“Nice,” he murmured, his breath ruffling the tiny hairs at her temple…and her senses.

“You’re a womanizer?” she blurted without thinking, her voice betraying her shock.

“No, sweetheart,” he denied, his tone adamant, thrilling her with the casually stated endearment, his lips setting off a thrill as they skimmed a trial from her ear to the corner of her mouth.

“But, you said…” she began, stirring-not struggling-to put some small distance between them. Her puny efforts proved unsuccessful.

“I know what I said.” His arms tightened even more. “Stay still. You feel so good.” His mouth took a slow, erotic journey over her surprised, parted lips. “You taste so good. I could make a feast of you.”

Because she suddenly craved a deeper taste of him, she felt a faint curl of panic. Afraid of the strange sensations churning inside her, Hannah turned and pulled her head back, away from his tantalizing mouth.

“You’ve got the wrong woman,” she said, somehow managing to infuse a thread of strength into her breathy voice.

“No.” Justin shook his head, but loosened his hold, allowing her to move back a half step. “I’ve got the right woman.” His smile and eyes were soft, almost tender. “Hannah, I am not a womanizer.”

She frowned. “Then why did you say you were?”

“Because my brothers tease me about my lifestyle every time we’re together.” He grinned. “Matter of fact, Mitch called me a philanderer just the other day.” He heaved a deep sigh. “It was unkind of him. I was crushed.”

“Right,” Hannah drawled, raising an eyebrow in disbelief. “I know it’s none of my business, but…” she hesitated. It most certainly was her business: Justin Grainger had definite and obvious designs on her.

“But?” he prompted, a dark brow mirroring hers.

“What is your lifestyle…exactly.”